


Streets of Fog and Dirt

by InkedConstellations



Series: 23 Emotions Challenge [6]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe, Basically Kanda uprooting his entire life in the hope it will help him find Allen, Being Lost, London, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:50:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkedConstellations/pseuds/InkedConstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanda sometimes catches himself staring into the crowded streets of London, looking for a face he hasn't seen in years and aching for a voice he's beginning to forget. He wants to find the owner of that voice and save him, bring him home, but his only hope is a sprawling city with dozens of missing person cases each year.</p>
<p>He knows that even if he searches, he won't find anything. But it doesn't stop him from looking again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Streets of Fog and Dirt

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [23emotions](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/23emotions) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Waldosia(n.): a condition characterized by scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there.

Most of the time Kanda doesn't know why he moved to London. It's dark and dirty, and the people there are mean. Perhaps he fits in a bit, in that regard. He certainly settled into the patterns of snarling at strangers and cabbies and cursing every time a random street boy runs over his foot. It's a terrible place, really. Not nearly enough greenery for someone interested in landscaping, though surprisingly enough a lot of work. But then he remembers that here is where  _he_  came from, before white hair and scarred faces, when innocence still existed.

Well, maybe that's going a bit far. Kanda had a hard time believing Allen walker had ever been innocent in his life. He must have been born with a smirk and cards in his hand. Kanda refused to accept any other explanation.

But still, origins are a strong tie. For Kanda they were a rope around his neck, something that made him gag and throw up in early hours of the morning, when he thought no one was looking. For Allen they were tree roots, holding him steady even as he drifted everywhere and anywhere. Perhaps that was why Kanda had hoped he would come back to this place, this city. Because somewhere, deep inside, Allen knew he belonged here. It was a foolish hope, something Kanda rarely allowed himself, but since it involved the Beansprout, it was a special case. 

Special enough to move from his comfortable home in Japan and come all the way to London for a job he wasn't even sure existed. He breathed in deeply the moment he stepped foot off the plane, and choked his lungs with the smog. It was so different from what he was used to. The heat and crush of bodies, the noise of factories and cars and people everywhere. It was a little bit like Allen, in that regard. Perhaps it was why, although he disliked it, Kanda couldn't quite bring himself to leave. There was a piece of history here, and even though it wasn't his, it might be enough to bring someone important back to him.

It had been six years since he disappeared. Six years since Kanda ate breakfast with him, six years since Kanda pulled him into a rough, one-armed hug and muttered that he would see Allen later. He didn't say "I love you." Kanda never said I love you with words. He was never that talkative, preferring actions to words. Allen was the one who liked to gab. So he listened to the white-haired boy chatter happily while helping put away groceries or straightening Allen's shoes or remembering to cook twice as much food as he would if it were just him eating. Six years since Kanda heard Allen say "I love you", and hid a very small smile instead of pushing Allen away when he wanted to cuddle on the couch. Allen had asked for five more minutes before Kanda went to work. Kanda had obliged.

And that was the last time he saw Allen.

Kanda walks briskly along the sidewalk, trying not to think of dark rooms and empty houses. It was dark, without Allen wandering every room and leaving lights in his wake whenever he couldn't sleep at night. It was too quiet to sleep himself, now that there were no soft huffs of breath in his ear or endless chatter in the afternoons. He was always cold, his hand aching for the warmth of Allen's fingers and feeling too light without the weight of his chin on Kanda's shoulder. Kanda never thought he'd be trained so thoroughly to live with someone, that he almost forgot how to live without them. His breath clouded before him and Kanda swears he sees a flash of white hair, a shocked gasp that is so clearly  _him_ that he stops and whirls, forget there are other people on the sidewalk.

There is nothing there but an indistinct crowd.

There is no reason for him to know any of these people, to hope that somewhere in the crowd will be a face he knows.

He stands and stares for a full five minutes before the alarm on his wristwatch beeps, reminding him he has a contract to set up and will miss his train. Roots were important things, he reminds himself. But Allen is gone, has never once returned to London or even mentioned wanting to in all the time Kanda knew him. He still cannot stop looking, though.

His wristwatch beeps once more, and falls silent.

Kanda sighs, and heads into the station, hand already reaching for his ticket.


End file.
